


Pick the Right Star

by Mad_Mage



Series: Under a Weirwood Tree [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attraction, Awkwardness, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Secret Crush, Some Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24184267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: When he wasn’t looking, Sansa seized the opportunity and stared at him unabashedly. She had always known that Joff’s uncle was tall and broad in the shoulders and downright intimidating. Intense. He had looked pretty good in his suits for a guy around her father’s age and Sansa had been content to stare at him from a safe distance.---The third story in the series features lots of determined teeth grinding, lots of inappropriate thoughts, several tomato red blushes, and leather. Yeah, there’s leather.
Relationships: Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Series: Under a Weirwood Tree [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729138
Comments: 42
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.  
> \---  
> Welcome to my newest series in which our favorite couples steal kisses under blossoming weirwood trees. This time, it’s Stannis’s turn *winks*

It was a nightmare. Sansa Stark, always so careful not to get involved in anything dangerous or stupid, found herself stuck at her wits’ end just begging to be robbed and raped. She was at a bus station in an unfamiliar town, all by herself in the middle of the night with no one to turn to and with her phone battery flat. The last bus to King’s Landing – the last for the night as well – had left five minutes before she had gotten to the station, of course.

Those things just had to happen at the most inconvenient times, didn’t they? As if some mad god took a great amount of pleasure in torturing her – that would explain the string of bad luck with men she had encountered recently. Maybe she should just give up on dating for the time being and focus on her own life, be a little selfish for a change. There had been Joff, then Ramsay and Sansa didn’t even want to think the name of her latest ex.

It was all Harry’s fault! Letting out a frustrated sigh, she slumped on the only bench that hadn’t been destroyed by vandals yet and didn’t look like someone had vomited on it. She resolutely told herself that no, she would not be tearing up anytime soon. With Harry, it had been going nowhere anyway and they even hadn’t dated for a long time. Why should it matter that she had just found him cheating on her?

Damn, damn, damn, here she was, bawling her eyes out instead of solving her current problem. However, the tears were mostly the product of frustration and helpless anger than a broken heart.

Two months of boring dates and even duller sex were not reason enough to be upset over losing a boy. And Harry even wasn’t that handsome anyway – he just thought that he was. Sansa was angry that she had been stupid enough to try and surprise that oaf with her visit – but it was the first day of May and she had never skipped the silly tradition. There had always been a handsome boy more than willing to kiss her under the canopy of sweet-smelling blooms.

The custom to celebrate love like this was widespread up in the North, but she supposed that Southerners had little reason to get excited about the date as well. The only weirwood tree she had found was growing down her street – and it had been the reason why she had moved in there.

Sansa rubbed at her eyes tiredly and looked around the deserted bus station. Rosby was a small town quite close to the capital, but it seemed that it went to sleep precisely at 9 p.m. She couldn’t stay sitting on that bench for several hours but she had no idea where she should go. Any motel would do, she supposed.

She rose from the bench and looked up at the sky. The only positive thing about her unfortunate trip to visit Harry was the fact that she could see the stars. There was only minimal light pollution – not like in King’s Landing – and she had missed looking up at the twinkling lights. In Winterfell, the skies always seemed so very close, millions of lights only seemingly an arm’s reach away.

Sansa just stared up at the stars for several long moments. Then she picked up the brightest one in the Father’s constellation and made her wish. It would be so very nice to not keep meeting utter assholes, thanks.

Then she simply wandered back the way she had come, walking down the main street. She vaguely remembered that there were several signs advertising bed and breakfast down that way. As long as it was clean and she could charge her phone and lock herself in the room, she would be happy with the place. Getting something to eat would be nice, too, but it wasn’t a priority.

Sansa managed to take only two or three steps when she heard it. The deep rumble was unmistakable. Arya’s current love interest rode a sport bike, so she was pretty confident that she knew how a motorcycle sounded and would be able not to confuse it with a car in the silence.

The powerful engine thundered in the stillness of the night, the sound echoing from the nearest buildings, and she shivered as she forced herself to continue along the sidewalk. The street was otherwise completely deserted and she hoped that the biker was not a drunk gang member or something.

The rumble was approaching her quickly and then it slowed.

For fuck’s sake, was this really happening? Sansa wanted to scream her frustration up into the skies when she heard it slowing down considerably to match her pace. She closed her eyes and determinedly walked straight ahead. Her hands were tightly fisted, shaking only slightly. Dad had been paranoid enough to force them all to learn basic self-defense and walking away was the best and safest thing she could do. If walking was not going to cut it, she would run and yell at the top of her lungs ‘Fire!’

Then it stopped. Her heart was beating furiously and Sansa’s body tensed, listening for footsteps or any sort of movement indicating that the stranger was going to attack her.

“Madam?” asked a voice that sounded quite familiar. “Are you alright, madam? I couldn’t help but notice that you looked a little… lost. May I be of assistance?”

Sansa took a deep breath, not believing her ears for a moment, and stopped walking. Shivering in the chilly spring air, she probably looked a sight without any jacket on and clad only in her thin light blazer and a t-shirt. The nights were still cold but she had expected to spend the night at Harry’s place.

She turned to the face the owner of the voice. Blinking twice to make sure her eyes were not deceiving her, too, she looked at him carefully.

Oh, gods. It’s the quiet ones girls needed to look out for. Always.

Standing before her was Stannis Baratheon, Joff’s uncle. The man who basically ran Baratheon Technologies Inc. was looking very unlike himself and Sansa had the strangest urge to pinch her hand as her eyes took him in. She started at the bottom, slowly raising her gaze up and up. First were the high boots, then the tight black jeans that left little to the imagination. Sansa got momentarily stuck at the wide leather belt – and what was just under that buckle, to be honest – before she realized that staring like that was pretty rude. The outfit was completed with a black leather jacket which emphasized the broadness of Mr. Baratheon’s shoulders and he even had aviator sunglasses hanging from his white t-shirt.

Oh, hell. Forget a gang member. Slightly sunburnt Stannis Baratheon with his height and broad shoulders looked right now like he could probably run any motorcycle gang with absolute ease, and break other people’s jaws with his large hands just as effortlessly as he could say ‘quarterly financial report.’

As their eyes met, he realized who she was, and the reddening of his cheeks was noticeable even under a week’s growth of stubble. He had probably not expected to see her in downtown Rosby in the middle of the night – he had probably not expected to see her ever again after the disastrous break-up with Joff.

Sansa had the strangest urge to pinch herself again when he forced through clenched teeth, “Miss Stark? Has someone hurt you?”

The anger in his expression and voice confused her before she realized how she looked. Her eyes were probably all red and swollen from her earlier crying session. Sansa was, unfortunately, an ungraceful crier. Reddening herself, she shook her head, trying for a light tone.

“No, I was just uncharacteristically stupid and reckless.”

Taking a step closer, he jammed his hands in his pockets and gazed down at her intensely. “Are you sure?”

Looking over his shoulder, Sansa was only beyond embarrassed that he had to see her right after crying her eyes out. It was her curse – whenever she got overly emotional, she cried. There was no difference if she was sad or absolutely livid, tears just sprung in her eyes every bloody time.

“Perfectly sure.”

Mr. Baratheon nodded and glanced away, clearing his throat as one of his hands moved to flatten his ruffled short hair and then rubbed his bearded chin before returning to the pocket. If she didn’t know better, she would say that he was uncomfortable being seen as disheveled and dressed as he was. Well, he had appeared ill at ease constantly from what she had observed of him.

When he wasn’t looking, Sansa seized the opportunity and stared at him unabashedly. She had always known that Joff’s uncle was tall and broad in the shoulders and downright intimidating. Intense. He had looked pretty good in his suits for a guy around her father’s age and Sansa had been content to stare at him from a safe distance. She had even hoped that Joff would one day turn out to be just like one of his handsome uncles instead of turning into his drunken fat father… But she was not going to think about Joff – or Harry, for that matter – when she had a man like _that_ right in front of her hungry eyes. In leather jacket and jeans and up from this close, Mr. Baratheon was quite delicious and the idea of more than contently looking from a safe distance fluttered at the forefront of her mind briefly.

Oh, damn. Sansa hurriedly turned her eyes away. Her blush deepened. That was a bad idea, an _extremely_ bad idea – the guy had never had a kind word for her before and usually beat a hasty retreat every time a conversation with her had looked imminent.

There was a moment of awkward silence and then Mr. Baratheon cleared his throat once more, gathered his resolve, and looked straight down at her. Sansa could do nothing but to return his gaze.

“Well, then. Do you require assistance?”

He sounded so formal, his voice was brusque and curt as if offering his help was the last thing he wanted to do. The way he was looking at her let Sansa know that she should not try to fool him with refusing. Did she require assistance? Hell _yes_ , and they both knew that. That was why he had offered – he probably couldn’t let her wander the streets alone with a clear conscience, not a man like Mr. Baratheon.

“Yes, please,” she said, swallowed and bit her lower lip. “That would be really, really appreciated.”

“A lift to King’s Landing?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face. They did, however, flick over her features and lingered on her lips for a split second. Sansa was struck dumb for a moment by the fact that his eyes were blue. She had assumed that they had been brown because they had always appeared dark from her safe ogling distance, but she could see that they were deep, dark blue.

When his gaze dropped down, momentarily glancing at her mouth again, she stopped biting her lip like a stupid girl and watched him frown. Those eyes darkened to nearly black as some unknown emotion flashed in them.

Oh, right, he was probably expecting an answer. Sansa remembered that he was not exactly the most patient of men and as all Baratheons, he was quite short-tempered.

“If it wouldn’t trouble you…” Sansa trailed off when the scowl deepened and he gritted his teeth.

“If it did, I wouldn’t offer.”

With that, Mr. Baratheon turned away from her and marched back to his bike. Sansa trotted after him quickly, trying to shake herself out of her foolish thoughts. She was out of luck it seemed because Mr. Baratheon’s bike was a vintage black cruiser that strangely suited him. Sansa didn’t know much about motorcycles but even she could see that it wasn’t simply just a bike. Imagining him riding a machine like that on his days off – as he so obviously did – made the inappropriate thoughts return full force.

She watched as he fished a dark blue hoodie out of the saddlebag and straightened, offering her the piece of clothing with his arm outstretched. His expression was neutral and he wasn’t looking her in the eyes anymore. “So you don’t freeze to death.”

“Thank you.”

Gods, she hadn’t had a conversation so awkward since she had been twelve. Sansa was usually quite good at talking to people – and flirting with handsome guys – but the pure discomfort on Mr. Baratheon’s end was probably rubbing off on her. He didn’t even try to mask how uncomfortable the situation was for him and how much he did not wish to be talking to her, let alone saving her from her own stupidity.

Sansa skipped the remaining few steps and eagerly accepted the hoodie nonetheless, immediately pulling it over her head. She really had been cold but the moment she slipped into the soft washed-out cotton, she felt warmth spreading over her chilled arms and torso. The hoodie smelled strongly of leather and aftershave.

He glanced at her before nodding in satisfaction and then he got on his bike. The engine roared to life and he gestured for Sansa to hop behind him. Swallowing hard, Sansa did so gingerly.

As she grasped the sides of his jacket, she glanced up at the skies. There it was, the brightest star in the Father’s constellation. When she had asked not to meet any assholes anymore, she hadn’t had thought that the gods would send a motorcycle riding Stannis Baratheon her way.

How the fuck was she supposed to keep her hands to herself with his muscular body so temptingly close? She had always been wondered if he had abs, she would bet that he did, and only a thin t-shirt was in between Sansa and finding out.

“Ready?” he asked and then he sped up down the street as if the Stranger was chasing them. There was something furious about the way he continued to gain speed as the bike rumbled and roared and she wondered what she had ever done to deserve Mr. Baratheon’s ire.

Sansa knew that he wasn’t exactly a verbose guy, but he had been doing quite fine until he had realized who she was. Only then his tone had flattened and he had started to speak in short, clipped sentences. He didn’t like her, probably thought her stupid first for dating Joff and now for getting stuck alone in Rosby in the late hours of the night. Maybe he just disliked incompetence and thought her dimwitted? Anyway, he would definitely not appreciate it if she tried to wrap her arms around him to sit more securely on the bike or rest her cheek against his broad back to shield her face against the cold air whipping around them.

It was going to be one hell of a ride to King’s Landing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa’s hands try to find whether or not her knight on a bike has abs. Meanwhile, Stannis fights his own losing battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quickly posts this chapter and hurries away*

Stannis went inwardly through all the curses he knew. By the time they were out of Rosby, he was grinding his teeth furiously and chanting in his mind over and over again:

_Keep calm_. _Dammit. Don’t react._

He was keenly aware of Miss Stark’s closeness even though she did her best not to actually touch him. Why would she want to? He wasn’t blind, he had noticed her hesitation in accepting help from him, how uncomfortable he had made her, how her breaths shortened the moment he had stepped closer to assess her condition.

She hadn’t been hurt – because if she had been, he would have demanded to know who had done it, and then he would have given that person a lesson in good manners – but she had been shaken. That was bad in itself. Her situation was precarious, that was the only bloody reason why she had even talked to him. Stannis had always felt ill at ease in the presence of beautiful women – tongue-tied and awkward and clumsy, not like Robert or even Renly. His younger brother got his tongue tied only with that Tyrell boy, and not quite in the usual sense of the phrase.

It was no wonder that seeing him dressed like a vagabond would only add to Miss Stark’s discomfort. She hadn’t been able to believe her own eyes when she had seen him in this outfit. To be honest, Stannis had not expected to be seen by any acquaintances or familiar faces until Monday morning, when he would return to the office clean-shaven in one of his suits with his tie perfectly straight and shoes perfectly polished as had always been his norm.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the pothole in time and they hit it.

Her arms went around his waist reflexively and Stannis held his breath for a second before he released it in a long, controlled sigh and slowed down. He didn’t wish to kill them both in his mad attempt to get her to the capital – and out of his presence – as soon as possible.

Turning his head to the side, he said just loud enough to be heard, “Sorry.”

He felt Miss Stark nodding and seven bloody hells, was her cheek pressed to his shoulder blade now? Oh, it was, and Stannis gripped the handlebars tighter, the bike speeding up again.

Sansa Stark touching him was something he had never expected to experience. He had taken extra care to steer clear of her during every unfortunate family meeting he had been forced to attend. Talking to her had always been his worst nightmare because women couldn’t get more beautiful than _that_ , and he hadn’t been able to stand the idea of getting inarticulate in front of her. That would have given away the fact that he found her… _breathtaking_.

Yes, she had stolen his breath away the first time he had laid his eyes on Ned Stark’s daughter on the arm of his idiotic nephew – and with his breath, Stannis’s self-respect had gone, too.

The last thing Stannis had wanted was to give his brothers more ammunition to make fun of him. He knew even without them that being attracted to his nephew’s girlfriend was inappropriate. Her dumping Joffrey hadn’t changed the fact that she was a vibrant, young, and beautiful girl... and he was still a dour, unpleasant man who was old enough to be her father.

Stannis forced himself to slow down the bike again, hoping that she would remove her arms from around his waist. She had no idea what that did to him, did she? At the same time, he forced his jaw to unclench because he would surely need his teeth for some more years. Grinding them to dust wouldn’t help matters.

Not even the cold night air seemed to be helping the flush in his cheeks and his mind was offering him various sorts of ideas what to do with Miss Stark completely at his mercy. It was foolish to indulge in those thoughts, to pretend even for a moment that she wanted to be doing what she was currently doing.

A girl like Miss Stark wouldn’t want to be this close to someone like him. He had caught her watching him once or twice with wide blue eyes. She had resembled a deer in the headlights when their gazes had met and had made herself scarce soon afterward. Joffrey had been filling her ears with lies about how horrible his cold-hearted Uncle Stannis was, no doubt.

Her arms stayed firmly where they had been. What was worse, her cold hands traveled from his stomach upwards and to his sides, seeking warmth. They stopped when they reached his ribcage and she tucked them under his jacket, hugging him firmly from behind.

Stannis usually didn’t have trouble with breathing but he found it almost impossible to inhale now. That was the effect this girl had on him, and only her. The need for air won eventually and he took a large gulp of it, feeling her arms around loosen and tighten again.

Her face wasn’t pressed to his shoulder blades anymore and Stannis considered that a small victory… right until the moment when she brought herself even closer to him and peeked over his shoulder to look at the road in front of them.

“It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” she said. She had leaned up, braced herself against his back to be able to say those words right into his ear.

Was it nice? She had no idea. Stannis shuddered, the ghost of her breath sending shockwaves of heat through his body. It also tickled, but he was not ever going to admit to being ticklish. Before he could open his mouth and ruin whatever magic spell had possessed her to do that, Miss Stark was speaking again, “Do you have the chance to ride often?”

Was she trying to converse with him? For fuck’s sake, they were going to crash if she kept that up!

“No.” His answer was uncomplicated, nicely short – he managed short, that was safe. And it was also curt and his tone bordered on rudeness because he felt Miss Stark’s arms loosen around him and she scooted back slightly, holding onto his jacket only. She was probably regretting trying to talk to him. Stannis felt like hitting his head against something – preferably made of wood. A wall would do, too.

He wanted her to talk to him, damn it. He wanted her to look at him with interest, not gaze at him with wide eyes, looking like a frightened animal that had just caught a glimpse of something terrible heading its way. He wanted those arms right back around his middle.

Slowing down so he didn’t have to raise his voice – shouting at her was not going to win him any favors – he wondered what to say. Convincing her that he wasn’t an utter asshole would be nice. Stannis didn’t fool himself into thinking that he had a chance to see her again, but he liked the idea that she would remember this encounter in at least slightly positive light.

“It’s… It’s not easy to find the time.”

That… didn’t actually hurt and it sounded normal. He relaxed slightly and waited what Miss Stark would do.

First returned her arms – very slowly – and then the rest of her body followed. Stannis was careful not to tense too obviously and reminded himself to breathe regularly in the long moments it took her to settle against his back again.

“Well, you can always make the time, can’t you?” she asked and Stannis detected a hint of a smile in her voice. “Your brothers can manage to run the company for a few days.”

“I had a few days off just now and I wonder if the building is even still standing.” He hoped that Renly hadn’t redecorated the whole place – _again_. The last time had cost them a fortune and Stannis couldn’t rely on Robert to rein in their younger brother. Robert hadn’t probably shown there at all.

Miss Stark chuckled and Stannis startled, all thought about his brothers disappearing completely. Had he just made her laugh? Seriously? He slowed even more to listen closely, greedily wanting to hear that sound again.

They were currently riding leisurely through the night with not a single soul in sight. The sky was clear and the stars were bright and Stannis couldn’t remember the last time a moment felt this right.

“Was it a good trip?” she asked, her voice coming from a very close. Stannis suppressed the urge to turn his head to the side – he was certain that his nose would touch her cheek if he could do so – but he was also aware of the fact that he should watch the road.

The insistent thought of kissing Miss Stark senseless fluttered to the forefront of his mind. It wasn’t anything new. The image of tangling his fingers into her fiery hair, of tilting her head back just so, and then devouring her mouth with his tongue, had been tormenting him for quite some time. That would show her ‘cold.’ It was his favorite dream. It was the dream he hated the most because he knew – always had known – that he would be forever denied that opportunity. What mad god would allow it?

How he could justify to the world – and to himself – the desire to have this woman? She was so young and so beautiful it hurt to look at her for too long. A divorced guy slowly but gradually approaching middle-age had no damned right to think about her. The fact that he was divorced brought automatically the image of his ex’s sneering face to the forefront of his mind. Stannis shuddered. 

“It was.” It didn’t sound like he had enjoyed his trip. Stannis was sure that he sounded like he was in pain. Anything connected to Selyse – including their separation for which he was most thankful – had the same effect as a bucket of ice dumped over his head. There was a brief moment of silence in which he desperately tried to analyze what else she could have heard in his voice but then most of his brain shut down.

Miss Stark caressed his side. It was a deliberate, slow motion. Her fingers and palm went up as if she wanted to count all of his ribs, and then her hand skimmed down, applying gentle, steady pressure until her palm settled calmly back to its previous resting place at his waist.

What madness was that? The way she touched him… It was most inappropriate and it certainly didn’t help his inner battle. Stopping somewhere sounded like a splendid idea.

“You don’t sound convincing,” she said and it resembled a sigh. Then she moved closer and breathed against his ear, “Bad company?”

“It…” Stannis’s felt his heart thumping painfully and he could hardly believe the words that wanted to spill out of his mouth. He couldn’t believe that Miss Stark would be fishing for information like that, using sighs and touches. He wasn’t completely dumb, he could very well guess what was she doing – his mind had just trouble processing it. 

Stannis did not flirt. No one in their right mind would try and flirt with him. No woman would honestly want to try and touch him so boldly. Stannis did not count gold-diggers, of course, but he knew what to watch out for in that regard. Miss Stark certainly wasn’t after his money, it looked like she was after _him_. Was this one of those dreams? That must be it. The chances of meeting her in the middle of the night in a deserted small town were otherwise pretty slim – as were the chances of Miss Stark returning any of his feelings.

“I…” He bit his tongue, clenched his jaw, and briefly screwed his eyes shut. He really had a feeling that they were about to crash if this would continue. Then he stared straight ahead at the road and the beam of light from his headlight. It was tempting, so very much so. He’s going to regret it, wasn’t he? But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

“I’m usually alone.” Stannis had to swallow. His mouth felt dry – unlike his sweaty hands. He gripped the handlebars tightly, took a split of a second to steady his resolve, and then he stepped over the edge of reason and fell over into deep waters of utter madness. “I never seem to find… the right company.”

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle trip before.” Miss Stark said immediately, hopefully.

His heart decided that it was high time to fill his ears with the sound of his blood roaring, and for a moment he couldn’t hear anything but that loud, mad _thump-thump-thump_. That alone convinced him that this couldn’t possibly be a dream. Oh, gods. What was he doing?

“Maybe you would like to come with me the next time.” Somehow, he managed to get the words out without choking. They also did not crash when Miss Stark chirped her answer happily.

“Oh, I’d love that!”

She had just _agreed_. Sansa Stark had just agreed to accompany him, Stannis Baratheon, on a trip. On his bike. Without hesitation. She had sounded as if nothing could possibly make her happier, as if she had been waiting for that invitation. It was utterly undignified, the way Stannis relaxed at that, or how he heaved a deep breath as his lips curled up in a small smug smile.

“Then it’s settled.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like things are back to normal here. You wouldn’t believe how busy things can get when half of your youngest’s class decides do drop by. All of them at once *grins*  
> I think they’re here for the ice-cream *stage whispers*  
> Anyway, this story has run away from me, as it sometimes happens, so instead of two nice short chapters you’re going to get three *winks* Hope you won’t mind.  
> Lots of love, Mage :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s his turn to do some exploring, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, there’s a weirwood tree *winks*

The smugness evaporated quickly, though, and was replaced by mild panic. Stannis was also aware that taking Sansa Stark on a bike trip, where she would spend most of the day pressed against him – just like she currently was – needed to happen only if their relationship would move from ‘acquaintances’ to ‘lovers.’ There was no way he would not try to devour her at the end of such a day. He doubted that Miss Stark would be as thrilled with that as she seemed to be with the idea of a bike trip.

Her behavior gave off the impression that she wouldn’t be opposed to something more, though, so he couldn’t be sure what she would or would not be thrilled with. Gods, Stannis wished women came with a manual or were able to convey to him what they wanted _plainly_.

He couldn’t just assume, could he? He needed to be certain. Clearing his throat once more, he said, “Perhaps you’d like to accompany me on a ride around Blackwater Bay tomorrow?”

“Starting slow, are we? Afraid I’d fall off the bike?” She laughed. Then her hands were on the move again and Stannis held his breath in anticipation. Her palms explored his stomach and then pressed against his abdomen as she hugged him closer. Her left hand was rather dangerously close to his belt buckle. “I’ll just have to hang on tight, I guess.”

It seemed Miss Stark intended to drive him mad. His inner battle reached the turning point. They were entering King’s Landing and there were so many places where he could turn off the main road, park, and do some exploring of his own. He had no more doubts. The manner in which Miss Stark was touching him – and in the way she was speaking with him – told him that she would not mind, it told him that she would welcome it, perhaps, and he was finally willing to listen.

This better not be a dream. Waking up would probably destroy him.

“The coast road is nice,” he said. If this wasn’t a dream – which Stannis believed it was not – and they were going to go on a bike trip together, he should make his intentions clear. Stannis had serious intentions and he tried to convey the fact to the woman sitting behind him. “We could have lunch in Duskendale and be back in time for dinner.”

“Are you asking me out to have lunch with you, Mr. Baratheon?” Her voice was still full of laughter and mischief but Stannis was sure that she had understood. He never said or did something that he didn’t mean. Was he asking her out?

“Yes.” He blinked and clenched his jaw. It was not a game, not to him. Stannis wasn’t interested in a quick fuck, and he needed to make it clear to her. “It would be inappropriate to bring a woman I’m not involved with along on a longer trip. A date could help you decide if that’s what you want. What’s your address, Miss Stark?”

She gave her address and then stayed silent. Stannis was beginning to curse his inability to keep his mouth shut when it mattered. She had just probably tried to kill time, hadn’t she? Was this the way girls her age amused themselves these days? The best he could have hoped for was that one-night stand, most probably. No young woman would seriously consider ‘getting involved’ with him, not in the long term – and least of all her. Miss Stark could have her pick of handsome, wealthy, and young men. What had possessed him to hope that she could be interested in him?

“Here, you can park under that weirwood, please.” Her voice – so strong and clear – interrupted his uncharitable thoughts. Stannis gritted his teeth as he maneuvered the bike under the tree and kicked down the side stand. He should brace himself for the next few moments.

She would slip from behind him and thank him with a smile. It would be a kind one because Miss Stark was a gentle soul, and neither of them would bring up the previous topic. A date. A relationship. That trip. Stannis would then watch her disappear in one of the old houses. The apartments in those buildings were nice from what he’d heard. Maybe he’d stay long enough to see which windows would light up, and then he would be on his way.

Alone and cold again, he thought bitterly as he felt her hands slip from his waist. He hated how he missed their touch immediately, the warmth they had produced. Stannis breathed through his nose and turned his head slightly to glance at Miss Stark.

Seeing her dressed in _his_ hoodie was like a punch to the gut. Stannis had to force his facial muscles to relax because he was sure that he was grimacing. She was hovering on the sidewalk in the shadows cast by the tree and he couldn’t see her expression. Her eyes were glinting in the darkness, however; bright and beautiful and observing him curiously. Then she tilted her head back to look up into the treetop and stayed like that, just watching the branches.

Why was she staring at them?

Stannis followed her gaze and looked up but he didn’t see anything that would warrant this sort of attention. She just didn’t want to look at him, he guessed. It was less awkward. Blinking, he lowered his gaze and settled it on Miss Stark. To his surprise, she took a hesitant step closer, her eyes now trained on him unwaveringly.

“The weirwood is beautiful in the daylight,” she whispered. “But I’ve always liked them at night, especially this time of the year.”

Stannis looked up briefly again. He supposed that all those large pink blossoms would be something women would find pretty but he liked weirwood leaves more – the color was his absolute favorite… and it also happened to be the same shade of Miss Stark’s hair. Yes, the pinkish blossoms were nice but he preferred the fiery red leaves.

“There’s even this tradition up in the North involving blossoming weirwoods, did you know that?”

“No.” Stannis frowned in confusion. Was this an evasion tactic? He wasn’t going to bring up their almost date, she didn’t have to worry about that.

She took another step and was standing so close to him that her leg touched his knee. Stannis startled by that and focused on her face. He could see her expression clearly now, and for the briefest of moments, his heart stopped beating at the peculiar way she was looking at him. Miss Stark resembled a wolf that was about to pounce on its unsuspecting victim. “Remind me to explain it in more detail later.”

“Miss Stark-” Stannis was now the stag in the headlights.

“Sansa,” she corrected him, leaned in and pecked his lips. It was over sooner than Stannis could comprehend what was happening. Miss Sta-Sansa gave him a soft sweet smile – all dimpling cheeks and sparkling eyes. As she was leaning away, his brain finally caught up.

Oh, not so fast. Stannis did not think about what he was doing when his arm shot out. He simply wrapped it around her waist, dragging her impossibly close. As soon as her mouth was at a comfortable distance from his own, he devoured her lips, igniting in her the same fire that scorched him.

It was everything he had fantasized it would be – every sigh, every nip, ever stroke of tongue. The taste of her lips, however, was surprisingly sweet – maybe just like the heavy, intoxicating smell of the blossoms above them. He would bet that being drunk felt like this, but being an abstinent, he wasn’t sure. Stannis just knew that he never wished to stop kissing her.

Sansa’s arms snaked around his neck as he lifted her to sit on the bike, encouraging her to come closer and closer until her legs wrapped around his waist and she was sighing approvingly into his mouth.

As had been Miss Stark’s usual habit, she stole his breath away. Yet Stannis did not want to end the moment and persevered. The kiss slowed, turning into something soft and warm as his hands finally managed to do that bit of exploring he had been thinking about. He caressed Sansa’s back with his palms, up and down through the material of her clothes and then his hands slipped slowly underneath the hoodie and her t-shirt. His fingertips traced softly her sides, the touch featherlike.

Sansa shivered and Stannis was sure it wasn’t from the cold. Her lips were smiling when she leaned away slightly – just enough to look into his eyes. “That tickles.”

“Does it?” Stannis took a moment to observe her. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils were blown wide, and she kept smiling at him. She had never smiled at his idiotic nephew like that, so openly and with affection. When she had been with Joffrey, her smiles had always seemed a little strained or absentminded.

But she was one hundred percent present in the moment – _with him_ – and completely unaffected. He wanted her. Gods, he had wanted her for so long it hurt, and asking her to take him upstairs was a tempting idea… but Stannis was not going to do that. There was a voice at the back of his mind whispering that it wasn’t right, that he would be taking advantage of a girl who had had a difficult night, that Sansa might feel obliged to invite him into her apartment.

He wasn’t religious, and he hardly put any trust in superstitions. Stannis was, however, a sailor and the loadstar – the brightest in the Father’s constellation – had never steered him wrong. He closed his eyes briefly and moved to peck her lips, wishing upon it for a chance. Nothing more, nothing less – just a chance to love this woman. The last thing Stannis wanted was to be a mistake, something to regret in the morning, something to be forgotten.

Sansa unwound her arms from around his neck. She kept her left hand resting on his shoulder for balance, but her right rose and she touched his brows with the pads of her fingers. “Stannis? What’s the matter?”

Had he been frowning? He must have because she was persistently smoothing the furrow between his brows.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked and his voice was strained, hoarse. He was uncomfortably aware of how raw he sounded but there was nothing he could do about that. Her answer mattered to him more than she would probably ever know. It was…It was _everything_. Would he recover from her rejection? He would, he always soldiered on no matter what. Would he ever be brave enough to feel for a woman what he felt for Miss Stark? No.

Her eyes flicked between his and she bit her lip for a moment. Stannis tensed when she opened her mouth to answer and no sound came out – but then she nodded and rested her forehead against his. Their noses were touching and her eyes remained opened. It was a little strange to look into someone’s eyes from that close, but it felt _intimate_.

He loosely looped his arms around her back, not quite hugging her but it served the purpose of offering closeness and finding comfort. Only after all tension left his body again, Sansa closed her eyes and breathed out a long sigh. “Are we still taking the trip tomorrow?”

“If the weather permits.”

Sansa smiled at that and she tilted her head back to stare at him with a smirk. “So, if the weather does not permit, you won’t take me out?”

“We don’t have to have lunch in Duskendale.” Stannis cleared his throat, unused to being teased in a manner that wasn’t insulting and was meant to be playful and kind. “Any nice establishment would do.”

“But you’d prefer to spend the whole of tomorrow with me?” Sansa continued with the same mischievous smile. “Not just lunch?”

Just what did she want to hear? Stannis was not sure. His frown threatened to return as he mulled over the matter. “Yes, I’d prefer to spend the whole day with you… Unless you have other plans.”

Did she? It was entirely possible and he wasn’t comfortable with the idea that he would impose and force her to change plans already set because he was being selfish and wanted to keep her to himself. He also doubted he would be able to unwrap his arms from around her. To his surprise, his once loose hold had tightened and he was holding her close, afraid that Sansa would disappear and he would wake up, alone and with no hope of meeting the vibrant young woman in real life ever again.

“Let’s not waste time anymore, then.” Her smile softened and her eyes shined as she leaned to kiss him gently, slowly, and then she moved to rest her chin over his shoulder and pressed her cheek against his. Her next words were only a whisper caressing his ear, “Stay for breakfast, Stannis.”

He inhaled sharply and jerked back to give her a startled look. Sansa was watching him with an open, composed expression and a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. She nodded at him and untangled herself from his embrace, slipping from the bike to stand on the sidewalk. Her eyes were sparkling – those sparks were still smoldering like embers. It would take only a breath of air to turn them into flames that had just moments before scorched through him. Or he could let them just warm him from the inside out and keep the coldness and bitterness and anger away… not only for tonight but maybe for all the nights to come.

Stannis got off his bike, pocketed the keys, and let her take his hand. Sansa’s hand was soft as she led him upstairs, and her smile was affectionate as she kept looking over her shoulder back at him. His heart felt like bursting with the same kind of gentle warmth he had found in her eyes – and hope – as he stepped over the threshold of her apartment and closed the door quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to sit under the night skies, searching for that particular star *giggles*  
> That’s it *sighs* I’m sad to see this series finished and I hope you guys had fun and enjoyed our favorite couples stealing kisses under weirwoods. I’m extremely upset that I didn’t manage to snuggle in Ty/Sansa one but my wrist didn’t approve of me writing a little bit more.  
> I suppose that means I have to come up with a brand new hot summer story for them, then *grins happily* Oh, and maybe finish the Christmas special, too. That’s something to look forward to – Christmas in July, yay!  
> Thank you for reading, Mage :)

**Author's Note:**

> *Highway to Hell starts playing in the background*  
> Because everyone needs a motorcycle riding Stannis Baratheon in their lives.  
> I had too much fun writing this chapter and kept adding and adding to it, not quite willing to leave things hanging in the middle of something interesting. It took me four days to get it done and I’m quite proud of the fact that it almost resembles my usual chapter length! *shakes out her hands with a grimace* So, I hope you enjoyed it a little bit *winks*  
> Stay safe and lots of love, Mage \,,,/  
> *blasts the music through the fucking roof and sings along*  
> PS: Tommy, I suppose it’s not as good as an admiral’s uniform, but I think he’ll do. It’s not a fluffy Tommen or naughty Roose either, but I do hope you don’t mind too much *grins*


End file.
